Hotel du Lac - Anita Brookner [49]
‘Once more,’ she begged. But now her exaltation was beginning to fade as the thought of the consequences waiting to be faced confronted her. By now everybody would be back at the house, Geoffrey seated in the drawing room, possibly with his head in his hands, Mrs Dempster grimly demanding what she was to do about the food, Penelope master-minding the entire proceedings. This time she noted that the leaves were turning, and the sky becoming overcast again, and that she felt very cold. And, regrettably, still hungry.
After that, it had all been terrible. She found her little house vibrant with indignation, although she was glad to see her publisher and one or two of her older friends sipping champagne in the garden. She crept upstairs to her bedroom but found it littered with Mrs Dempster’s clothes and smelling of Mrs Dempster’s scent. Downstairs she could hear Penelope saying, ‘Do help yourselves to everything. At least we can offer you some food. I cannot think where Edith has got to; she must have been taken ill.’ At which Edith had sighed and made her way timidly down the stairs, very much aware of the indelicacy of her appearing at all.
She made her way straight to the drawing room and put her hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder. ‘Geoffrey,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry.’ He looked up, and with momentous dignity removed her hand. ‘I have nothing more to say to you, Edith,’ he pronounced. ‘You have made me look a laughing stock.’
‘I think, Geoffrey, that you will find that it is I who am the laughing stock.’
This he ignored. ‘I am only grateful that my poor Mother did not live to see this day.’
They both looked at the opal ring, which Edith removed and handed to him. Then she said, ‘Goodbye, Geoffrey,’ and left the room.
‘I shall be in the garden, Penelope,’ she announced, thus provoking a renewed wave of scandalized excitement. ‘I just want to have a word with Harold and Mary.’ And, taking a glass of champagne, she moved into the garden, exhanged a few pleasant words, but no explanation, with her agent, and sat there until she was sure that everyone had left.
She was condemned out of hand, of course. For what seemed like hours she listened to Penelope and Mrs Dempster discoursing on her moral turpitude, her childishness, her lack of dignity, trust, loyalty, and decent feminine sensibility. She then heard them tell her that she had had her last chance. That there was no future for her in that line, whatever she may think. That they wondered how she could hold up her head. That the best thing she could do would be to go away until she had come to her senses and could make decent reparation to society for the outrage she had committed. She had listened to all this in silence, her head bowed, until finally the voices had stopped, and the steps had retreated and the front door banged, and she was alone. She waited for five cautious minutes, then made her way indoors to the telephone and dialled a number.
‘Stanley,’ she said. ‘Is David there?’
‘Doing a sale outside Worcester,’ was the reply. ‘Anyone could have done it. I don’t know why he went.’
‘Could you get in touch with him for me? Could you ask him to come round this evening? As soon as possible? It’s Edith, by the way.’
‘Didn’t you get married then?’ asked Stanley, unsurprised.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I changed my mind.’
She went upstairs to her bedroom, now restored to her, but still smelling of scent, opened the window, and changed out of her beautiful suit into a blue cotton dress. She sat on the bed for